I shrug, reaching for indifference. “No sense wasting his time or mine. I told you, Coach. It’s not in the cards.”
“Be that as it may, it wouldn’t hurt to show them what you can do. Let them know you’re open to a conversation at the NFL Combine in the spring.” He pauses, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the edge of the cluttered desk. “I’m also going to schedule an optional practice for Sunday. Mainly drills. It’ll be a good opportunity for some of the juniors and seniors who don’t get as much press to showcase their skills. I’d like you to consider attending.”
He doesn’t have to say the Chicago scout will be there. It’s implied. Coach has to walk a fine line, remaining impartial while also advising players he’s coached for years, many of whom have nowhere else to turn for career advice and view him as a father figure.
The hard-ass kind that doesn’t take any lip or no for an answer.
If Coach can sense how bad I want to meet with Chicago, he doesn’t let on. And neither can I. My old man would flip the fuck out if he knew I expressed interest in a team other than Pittsburgh. Which is why there’s no point shining Chicago—or myself—on.
It’ll just make it harder when the Steel City calls my name in April.
Hell, the sooner I accept the path that’s been laid out for me—the one I’ve chosen—the easier all of this will be. I start making noise, things could go sideways and the next thing you know my old man’s telling the owners I’ll sit out a year before I play for the wrong team. Not exactly how I want to start my career in the NFL.
“What do you say?” Coach asks, rubbing his chin. “Can I count on you for Sunday? If I tell the scouts you’re participating, it could help some of the other guys get a look.”
Shrewd bastard. He thinks I won’t say no if it’s for the benefit of the team. “I’ll think about it.”
Kennedy
“We should do that again.” I curl into Austin, shamelessly rubbing against him so I can soak up his body heat. We’re tangled in the sheets, my head resting on his chest, and despite the workout he just gave me, I’m freezing. Probably because Becca and I agreed not to turn the heat on before November. We’re holding out to keep the electricity bill down, but it’s just as well because having Austin around is like having my own personal heater. The man is always hot, not just when we’re burning up the sheets. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s one of those dudes who wears shorts all winter.
Austin chuckles, his warm breath rustling the hair on the top of my head. “Give me twenty, and I’ll give you a repeat performance.”
“And you call yourself an athlete.” I scoff and poke him in the ribs, tilting my chin to look up at him. With a strong jaw and eyes like Caribbean waters, he really is beautiful. Although I suspect he’d prefer the word handsome. Too bad. My brain, my label. “Aren’t you guys supposed to have stamina?”
He gives me a lazy grin, revealing the sexy little dimple that melts my marshmallow heart. “You do know I played three hours and twenty-six minutes of Big Ten football today, right?”
I snort-laugh and clamp a hand over my mouth. “You didn’t play the whole time.”
“You want to see stamina?” A mischievous grin spreads over his face, and I know I’m in trouble. “I’ll show you stamina.” I roll out of his arms, but it’s a half-hearted escape attempt. He’s too fast, and let’s be honest, I kind of want to be caught.
He grabs me around the waist and turns me over, pinning me to the bed, his muscular thighs straddling my hips. The view’s not half bad, so I don’t resist when he raises my arms over my head, binding my wrists together with one hand. If he wants to prove he’s got stamina, who am I to argue, especially when it involves orgasms?
Austin leans forward, lowering his soft lips to mine. The scruff on his chin scratches my face in the best way as he parts my lips with his tongue and plunders my mouth like a pirate in search of booty.
Pirate? Booty?
I giggle. Might be time to lay off the pirate romance novels.
Austin pulls back. “Oh, that’s funny, is it?” He caresses my side with his free hand, his touch sending a shiver up my spine as visions of orgasms dance in my head. Unfortunately, he’s got something else in mind and my fantasy grinds to a halt when he starts tickling me. I squeal and thrash, trying to free myself from his grip, but it’s no use. It’s like fighting a wall of sexy man muscle. He keeps at it until tears leak down my cheeks and my right side is aching from the laughter. Then the cocky bastard flops down next to me, head propped up on his hand, looking quite pleased with himself.
I blow a strand of hair out of my face. It flies up in the air and falls right back out of place. “For the record, that did nothing to improve my opinion of your stamina.”
“Yeah, but it was fun.” He wiggles his brows and for a second, I think he might tickle me again.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn, narrowing my eyes as I pull the sheet up over my breasts. “If you want fun, you can always grab your toga and head over to Sig Chi. I’m sure Coop and his entourage would be happy to provide plenty of entertainment.”
“Yeah, no.” He rolls his eyes. “I’ve been to enough drunken Halloween parties to last a lifetime, thanks.”
“But you’re missing out on all those ah-mazing Halloween costumes.” I bat my eyelashes for good measure. Honestly, I still can’t believe he bagged a Halloween party to hang out with me at the apartment. Then again, he is getting sex out of the deal, in a bed nonetheless, so maybe it makes sense after all.
“I only have eyes for one woman and I kind of prefer her naked.” A flush crawls over my skin at the compliment. I happen to like him naked too, but I’m pretty sure I’m getting the better end of the deal, because, hello, muscles. “Besides, there are only a few weeks left in the season.” Ugh. Don’t remind me. I’ve gotten so spoiled by regular orgasms, I don’t know how I’m going to survive the spring semester with just my vibe now that I know what I’ll be missing. “I need to stay focused on my future.”
“I thought you had it all figured out. National championship, NFL draft, football god,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. He’s always so serious. And I get it, I do. But he deserves a night off. Even when I was at my worst, spread thin by school, work, and soccer, I always carved out a few hours for myself. As far as I can tell, Austin never cuts himself any slack.
“I wish it were that easy.” He scrubs a hand over his face and I notice for the first time the lines of tension around his eyes. “Officially, the draft will decide where I play pro ball, but there are a lot of dealmakers in the background, so…”
It’s clear he has more to say, even if he can’t find the words, so I stay quiet. Something tells me he doesn’t talk about his future much, although it’s the second time he’s brought it up to me. Maybe because I’m a step removed from his world, someone who plays the game but doesn’t live and breathe it.
“Coach called me into his office yesterday. Told me there’s a scout for Chicago who’s got his eye on me. Asked me to do an extra workout with some of the guys when he’s in town, but I don’t think I’m going to do it.”
“Why not?” I ask, curiosity nibbling at me. I mean, Austin’s a great player. He’s sure to be a top draft pick, so what’s he got to lose? “You wouldn’t want to play in Chicago?”
“No, it’s not that,” he says, reaching out to grab a strand of my hair. He twists the loose wave around his finger and releases it. “Hell, I’d love to play ball in Chicago, but there’s no point wasting his time or mine. My parents have always wanted me to play ball in Pittsburgh, so that’s where I’ll go.”
I scrunch up my nose. “But you just said the draft will determine where you play. I’m no expert, but how can you be so sure you’ll end up in Pittsburgh?”
He smiles, but it’s devoid of actual happiness. It looks a hell of a lot like defeat, although I can’t be sure since I’ve never seen Austin give up on anything. Not me. Not a play. Not the team.
“Polit
ics, remember?”
I arch a brow but say nothing. Turns out, it’s the right move.
“Pittsburgh is going to need a new franchise quarterback, and while they’re in no danger of getting the number one pick, they can trade their way up the draft if there’s a player they want badly enough. My old man is a legend in Pittsburgh, and the organization has shown interest. It’s just a matter of time until they work out the logistics.”
“But can’t you, I don’t know, trade teams later? You’re not obligated to spend your whole career there just because your father did.”
He sighs. “It’s complicated.”
Bullshit. “So is engineering, but hey, there’s always a solution if you want to find it badly enough.” I know my tone is flippant, but he acts like he’s staring down a death sentence. Which is ridiculous since most of the guys on the team would probably trade their man card for a shot at the NFL. “If you don’t like the choices you’re being offered, why not consider alternatives?”
His lips are pressed into a flat line. I’ve hit a sore spot. The last thing I want to do is pick at old wounds, but he’s the one who brought it up. He obviously wants to talk about it, which means I owe it to him to be honest, to not pull any punches.
He’d expect nothing less.
“Everything I’ve done has been to make my parents proud. They’ve always dreamed of me wearing the black and gold in Pittsburgh, just like my old man. I can’t disappoint them by turning my back on the dream.”
“Austin,” I say, keeping my voice low as I reach out and touch his arm, stroking his bicep with gentle fingers. “It’s your life. What they probably want more than anything is for you to be happy. That’s what my mom always says, anyway.” Usually when she’s railing about football players being unreliable losers, but no need to mention that part.
“Clearly, our parents have different priorities.” He rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “Mine have been planning my life since before I was born.”
“And you always do what they say?” I want to call bullshit again, because, come on. All kids rebel at some point. Even little ol’ me. Case in point, there’s a naked QB in my bed.
One who needs a friend to listen. And whatever else Austin and I are to each other, we are friends. A few months ago I never would’ve thought it possible, but somewhere along the way, between snarky exchanges, grueling practices, and secret hookups, I’ve come to count Austin as a friend.
“I don’t want to let them down. Especially my mom.” He swallows and his throat bobs. “She was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was fourteen. She died the following year.”
“I’m so sorry, Austin.” If anything happened to my mom… I can’t even think about it.
His eyes remain fixed on the ceiling, but in the moonlight, I can see their glassy sheen and my heart breaks for him. Cracks wide open for the boy who lost his mother at such a young age and the man who would do anything to make her proud.
“My mom was my biggest fan. She had a lot of spirit, always yelling at the refs and raising hell on the sideline. And she was always the first to call me on my bullshit.” He pauses, a faraway look in his eyes. “You would’ve liked her.”
“She does sound like my kind of woman.” I brush a strand of sweat-slick hair back from his forehead, and he turns to face me, so I’m cupping his cheek in my hand. Austin doesn’t need my pity. He needs understanding. He needs acceptance. The kind that doesn't come with strings and conditions.
“Even when she was at her worst and could barely get out of bed, she never missed a game.” He clears his throat, for all the good it does. His voice is a low rasp when he continues, and I know he’s fighting for control. “The last thing she said to me was that she was proud of the man I was becoming and her greatest regret was that she wouldn’t be there to cheer me on the first time I came running out of the tunnel as an NFL quarterback.”
My eyes are stinging, and I’m afraid if I speak, the sob I’m holding back will be wrenched from my throat. How can I make him understand that her words don’t make playing somewhere other than Pittsburgh a failure? Is it even my place to try? I don’t know his mom, but if she’s even half the woman he’s described—and I know in my bones she is—she’d be proud as hell of all he’s accomplished, regardless of where he plays professional ball.
I scoot closer to Austin and wrap my arms around him, holding him tight in my embrace. When I can finally trust myself to speak, I choose my words carefully. “It sounds like your mom loved you very much.” I don’t believe for a minute his mom would be disappointed in him, but what I think doesn’t matter. Only Austin’s opinion matters. He’s the one who has to believe it. “It’s hard to imagine she could ever be disappointed in you. I think she’d want you to be happy—whether that’s in Pittsburgh or Chicago—but what does your heart say?”
Chapter Nineteen
Austin
“I’m about to own your sorry ass,” Parker says, eyes glued to the TV as his onscreen running back does a touchdown celebration. I bite my tongue and roll my shoulders. He’s not wrong. My head’s not in the game. Problem is, I can’t seem to focus on shit today.
I can’t stop thinking about Kennedy’s question. Would my mom have understood if I’d said I didn’t want to play in Pittsburgh? I’m not sure. My old man sure as hell wouldn’t understand. He can’t imagine a world where I wouldn’t want to follow in his footsteps. I get it. He had an amazing career in Pittsburgh, the fans love him, and the franchise treated him well. Doesn’t mean I want to live in his shadow, listening to the talking heads compare me to my old man week in and week out.
“I’m out,” Parker says, tossing his controller on the coffee table. “Shit’s no fun when you’re not even trying.” He turns to face me and there’s real concern in his eyes. “You want to talk about it?”
I snort. “Fuck no.” Even if I wanted to talk about it, I couldn’t. Not really. Parker’s one of my best friends, but we don’t exactly sit around braiding each other’s hair and talking about our feelings. Besides, I’ve been lying to the guys for weeks about my hookups with Kennedy, making excuses for my late nights and not carpooling to study hall. Plus, there’s the fact that she’d kill me if word got out that we’d been hooking up. Assuming Coach didn’t get his hands on me first.
Parker shrugs, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”
“So, you offered hoping I’d say no?”
“It’s actions that matter, not intentions.”
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” I throw an empty water bottle at him. He deflects it with his right arm and it lands on the floor, rolling under the coffee table. “What if I would’ve said yes?”
“Then I would’ve listened,” he says, wiggling his fingers, “and rubbed your back.”
I’m about to tell him what he can do with his backrub when the front door bangs open and Coop rolls in, expression unreadable. He ignores Parker and tosses a rolled-up newspaper at me without saying a word. It lands in my lap.
“What’s with the theatrics?” I scoop up the paper and unroll it. My heart stutters when I read the headline, and a cold sweat breaks out on my brow. Waverly’s Newest Couple? Below it there’s a picture of Kennedy and I kissing in the library. It’s a good shot. You can see both our faces. And my tongue shoved down her throat.
FUCK.
This is bad. Real bad. I take a deep breath before looking up to meet Coop’s stare. “What do you know about this?”
Parker leaps out of his seat and snatches the paper from me. His eyes go wide when he sees the headline. “Oh shit.”
“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Coop shrugs, but his face remains annoyingly blank. He’s my best friend, and I don’t have the first clue what he’s thinking. He could be pissed. Could be pleased. Fuck if I know. “Handle your business.”
Hell, maybe he’s disappointed. God knows I deserve it for putting my cock before the team. I’ve let them down. I should be sor
ry, but I can’t bring myself to regret even one moment with Kennedy. She’s been a bright spot in a season wrought with challenging odds, tremendous pressure, and enough speculation to bring me to my damn knees.
“You and Carter, huh?” Parker asks, tossing the paper on the table and crossing his arms over his chest. “Not quite the headline I was expecting.”
I rake a hand through my hair, but it does little to relieve the frustration pulsing through my skull. I owe him an explanation. Hell, I owe the whole team an explanation, but I can start here, with my friend and roommate. I force myself to look him in the eye.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t straight with you when you mentioned asking Carter out. Nothing was going on then, but…I guess I was hoping.” No need to mention we’re not actually dating.
Parker stares at me for what feels like an eternity and it takes all my self-control not to fidget, but I’ve got years of practice being stared down by savage mofos, so I wait him out.
Finally, he raises his fist and I knock it. “It’s all good. I’m talking to a freaky little gymnast.”
Thank Christ. I need my roommates to have my back, because I’ve definitely got some explaining to do, especially if the larger news outlets pick up the story. Which they will.
Kennedy and I are both media darlings, albeit for different reasons. Dammit. The last thing I need is a bunch of reporters speculating about my personal life. It’s exactly what I didn’t want, what Coach didn’t want. Hell, what Kennedy didn’t want.
Kennedy.
She’s going to be pissed. I need to talk to her. She should hear about this from me, not on social media. I pull out my phone and check the time. It’s late and we’ve got an early flight tomorrow for the Indy game. Odds are, she’s home.
“Look, I need to talk to Carter. You’re sure we’re straight?”
“Go take care of your girl,” Parker says, clapping me on the shoulder. “And good luck. She’s not gonna be happy about the article.”
Claiming Carter (Waverly Wildcats Book 1) Page 20
